


Gunmetal and gold (explicit version)

by Laet_lyre



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Cuaki Fest 2020, Editor Akaashi Keiji, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, I am terrible at writing smut, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Mentioned Miya Osamu, Pro Volleyball Player Bokuto Koutarou, Slice of Life, Tsum-Tsum, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laet_lyre/pseuds/Laet_lyre
Summary: People often wondered how he did it. How he could put up with the hurricane of a person that Bokuto Koutarou was. Put up, huh. As if he were the one doing all the effort.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 188





	Gunmetal and gold (explicit version)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuma/gifts).



> First of all! There are spoilers ahead (from chapter 377 to 381) related to Bokuto, Akaashi, the Miya twins and Udai/the Small Giant. If you’re not up to date with the manga, proceed under your own responsibility.  
> And now…  
> Happy Cuaki Fest 2020!!!  
> It’s Cuma’s (aka Cuaki. Or Cuqui. Or- girl, just how many names do you have?) birthday aaand of course I had to write whatever she asked me to because I can’t say no to her. Well, I probably could, but then she’d be sad and not even I am that cruel. So here you are, my first BokuAka.  
> (And, hopefully, my last smut).
> 
> If you want to read the non-explicit version of this fic, you can find it here.

Akaashi puffed a breath, watching how it turned into small clouds in the cold wintry air. It sparked some childish glee in his chest. He hadn’t always enjoyed winter. Sure, he liked the aesthetic layer of frost that covered everything, the gentle dance of snowflakes with the breeze, but the cold that pierced his skin like a thousand needles overpowered the charm of it all.

At least it used to, before the brightest of stars barged into his life and taught him how to see the best in everything.

People often wondered how he did it. How he could put up with the hurricane of a person that Bokuto Koutarou was. _Put up, huh._ As if he were the one doing all the effort.

Bokuto was an expressive person, noticing his discomfort was fairly easy —pinpointing the cause, well, that was an entirely different matter—, and people also realized how Akaashi lifted his mood. He, on the other hand, despite having a self-destructive penchant for overthinking, kept everything bottled up for as long as he could, so almost nobody got to see how the rambunctious spiker put him at ease, how he kept him grounded, away from the dark abyss his treacherous mind could conjure.

This wasn’t one of his bad days, ‘though. The Black Jackals had ended the season with a few outstanding matches under their belt, which meant his favourite owl-person was on the way home. Akaashi climbed the stairs up to his apartment and balanced his grocery bags in one arm while fishing the keys in his pocket. He closed the door behind himself and took off his shoes, meticulously aligning them to the side, barely sparing a glance towards the flashy trainers that hadn’t been worn in months.

 _Soon_ , he thought.

Akaashi entered the kitchen and proceeded to store his purchases, except for a few vegetables and a good cut of beef. It wasn’t everyday that he had time to invest in cooking a nice dinner. He had worked like crazy for the past two weeks, to the extent of pulling all-nighters on more than one occasion. Being an editor for a successful manga magazine was a challenge. It wasn’t what he had aimed for at first, but it had its perks.

He smiled to himself while slicing the meat and dipping it into the marinade.

Separation had been rough, especially in the beginning. Once the thrill of Bokuto being scouted by one of the biggest teams subdued, the realization that the spiker would spend most of the year away from Tokio hit them both like a wrecking ball. Akaashi still remembered his torn expression, his golden eyes dulled with sorrow.

“I won’t go,” Bokuto had declared from under the kitchen table the morning he was supposed to leave, eyeing at the suitcases lined in the genkan as if they had personally offended him.

With a sigh, Akaashi had crouched beside him. Seeing the gigantic man huddled down there was usually a funny sight, adorable even. It wasn’t back then. Akaashi wanted nothing more than to stay there with him, stretch that moment forever. But he couldn’t.

“I’m not going to lie and say it’ll be easy, because it won’t,” the familiar gleam of gold focused on him, “but this is not a goodbye. I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Promise?”

Akaashi felt a genuine smile tugging on his lips.

“Of course.”

Bokuto moved, now fully facing him with his brows scrunched up.

“You won’t forget about me, will you? You won’t stop liking me while I’m gone. Because…” he swallowed, “I will never stop liking you, ‘Kaashi, no matter how far apart.”

“Koutarou, I…” Akaashi tried to fight the blush that warmed his face —and failed miserably, “I couldn’t even if I tried.”

For the next weeks he had to endure calls and texts at ungodly hours; he missed Bokuto, he really did, but his supervisors and deadlines were a perpetual pain in the ass and he _needed_ every tiny bit of sleep. He didn’t complain, ‘though. As much as he despised being awoken, he couldn’t deny those texts kept him going through his worst days —whenever he was spiraling down after a rough meeting or insomnia kept him turning in bed for hours, he would cling to Bokuto’s words like a lifeline.

(He would have preferred clinging to _him_ , truth be told).

Akaashi finished dicing the vegetables and checked the time. He had a couple of hours left before Bokuto’s arrival, so he left the freshly cut ingredients in the fridge and went to change his clothes. Despite the walk to the supermarket and back home, the smell of the subway was still stuck to the fabric. And to his skin.

He hit the shower fast, feeling refreshed, put on a slightly oversized jersey and a clean pair of jeans and settled on the couch. He turned on the TV and, after cleaning his glasses with the hem of his sleeve, proceeded to idly review one of the stacks of papers that permanently sat on the coffee table. It was the storyline one of his authors had recently sent him. He smiled upon seeing the tiny owls sketched here and there.

Things started to get better around the third month. They were talking during a break about ‘I wish you had seen my spikes today’ and how ‘I still like your tosses more’, which stirred up an irate ‘Say what!?’ in the background and suddenly Akaashi was stranded in a three way call with his boyfriend and one royally pissed Miya Atsumu. Somehow the latter managed to snatch Bokuto’s phone and started ranting.

“I swear to God, that idiot is going to be the death of me!” Akaashi couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t laugh at me, this is serious! How could you control him? Are you even human?”

“That’s the thing,” he replied. “You don’t control Bokuto-san, you just let him be and open a path for him.”

The line went silent for a second, save for the muffled cries of Bokuto wanting his phone back. Then, Miya sighed.

“Dude, you sure are made for each other.”

Akaashi couldn’t for the life of him remember what exactly was said next, but at one point the Black Jackals’ setter brought up Akaashi’s work as a manga editor.

“I mean, the story is cool ‘n stuff,” he said, regarding one of the latest publications, “but the characters are always so serious, y’know. A little of humor would be nice.”

“I didn’t know you liked this sort of thing, Miya-san.”

“You see, this crazy bird of yours wouldn’t stop pestering me into reading the magazine, and I guess it’s not so bad.”

“…Thanks.”

Despite the barely-a-compliment, the conversation made something click inside Akaashi’s head. Bokuto tried to follow his work just as he kept up with volleyball news. However, his hand was barely visible in the stories he edited. He wanted to do something, send some kind of sign. Something that said ‘I’m here’.

The break ended and he entered the office, an idea taking form in his mind. He saw one of his mangaka hunched over a desk, scribbling a few notes in what seemed like a sketch.

“Udai-san, do you have a minute?”

He knew it was a weird request, especially for a manga like _Zombie knight zom’bish_ , but the once legendary Small Giant laughed good naturedly. He was the first to agree, and Akaashi had currently managed to persuade half of his authors to hide tiny owls in their panels. Bokuto was enamored with the reference. At first he would text Akaashi anytime he spotted one of the birds, until he realized it was his doing, a small gift for him, and from then on the spiker took upon himself finding each and every owl. It was their own private game.

Well, one of them. Skype was a good ally when it came to distance relationships.

Akaashi was still reading when he heard jingling of keys at the entrance. He sat up, reaching for his phone, afraid that he had lost track of time, but no. He rushed to the genkan, his socks slipping on the hardwood floor, but he managed to regain his balance just as the door opened.

“You are…”

“’Kaashi!”

Two muscular arms wrapped around him.

“…Early,” he finished. He hugged back, comforted by the warmth and the tightness of the embrace. “Dinner isn’t ready yet, are you hungry?”

“I missed you so much,” Bokuto said, ignoring the question in favor of scattering floppy kisses along his neck.

“Me too,” he confessed pressing lips to his temple and running his fingers through the two toned hair. “Me too.”

His breath caught in his throat when a cold hand slipped under his jersey. The pleasant tingling around his collar turned into a fire that warmed his chest and settled down his belly. A bite in his earlobe made Akaashi arch his back with a sigh.

“K-Koutarou,” he moaned, “you left the door open.”

Bokuto grunted, reluctantly letting go of him. Akaashi took the chance to breathe and take a proper look at the other man while he got his bags out of the way to close the door. His shoulders, solid and impossibly wide, his sturdy form and ridiculous stature, all of it screamed ‘ace’ now even more than before.

“Did you grow again?” he found himself asking.

The spiker grinned.

“Do I look taller?”

“Hmm,” Akaashi tilted his head, assessing him. “Maybe not in height, but you do seem bigger.”

“Well,” Bokuto’s smile crooked, and the gleam in his eyes turned his irises into molten gold, “you are still the finest man ever.”

The former setter hid his embarrassment with a cough. At least he tried, because he was sure his blush had reached his ears. However, he didn’t step back when Bokuto closed the distance and kissed him. Expert fingers latched to one of his belt loops with a tentative pull.

“Can we-?” Bokuto started, but a growl from his stomach cut him.

Akaashi snorted, the hand over his mouth doing nothing to hide his amusement. The spiker pouted, shame dusting his cheeks, but Akaashi caressed the line of his jaw and kissed him again, with less fire and more tenderness.

“What about you have a nice shower while I finish preparing dinner? I’m doing your favourite.”

“You’re the best!” Bokuto cried before disappearing inside the bathroom.

Akaashi shook his head with a fond smile gracing his lips. He went to the kitchen, turned on the stove and grabbed a pan. With each of his movements he felt light, easy. The air that filled his lungs was the same as always, but it felt fresher than before. There was an underlying excitement and nervousness mingling with the comfort of having the other man back. The sound of water running and the muffled pitter-patter were painfully familiar, and for a minute it was as if he had never left with how easy it was to fall back into their old dynamic.

Everything was ready and waiting on the table when Bokuto came into the room, topless and with a towel still around his neck. His hair was shorter, Akaashi noticed, his tousled fringe barely reaching his brows. It highlighted the sharpness of his features, the slight roundness of his teenage years long gone.

Bokuto closed his eyes and sniffed the scent of spices that filled the room. His face lit up.

“That smells luscious, Akaashi” he complimented. Then he paused for a second. “I used ‘luscious’ right, right?”

Akaashi breathed a laugh.

“Yeah, you did. Come on, finish dressing, you must be starving.”

“I had to skip lunch to take an earlier flight” Bokuto confessed without a hint of remorse.

The dark haired man sent him a disapproving glance over his glasses but didn’t comment. He wasn’t exactly one to talk since his drastic cut in sleep hours wasn’t all that healthy either.

Bokuto talked a lot about his teammates, matches and places he got to visit, mostly things Akaashi already knew about, but he didn’t mind hearing it again. In return, he mentioned the few changes in his office.

“Ah! Udai-san’s manga is so cool!” the spiker said. “You think I could-?”

“I’m afraid the storylines are confidential, Bokuto,” he answered knowingly.

The other man looked at the papers on the coffee table, then at Akaashi and back at the papers. The editor didn’t even flinch. Bokuto had been to his office before and spoken to his coworkers a couple of times, including some events. Udai-san had unraveled a few of his ideas to the spiker without a problem, and so did other authors, basically considering the man an extension of Akaashi. Despite his loud self, they all knew he was trustworthy.

“Ok…” Bokuto said slowly, probably sensing his bluff. “Oh! Tell Udacchi his owls are the best! You think he would make a design for me? Like, for a shirt.”

“Right now Udai-san is pretty stressed about deadlines, but I think he’s already considered creating some illustrations for merchandising.”

“Cool! And about Fumikkun…”

Bokuto ate with gusto, to his boyfriend’s delight, still talking in between bites. Afterwards they moved to the couch, with a mug of tea each, sitting close enough to feel the cadence of each other’s pulse. The wind had started to howl outside; it created an even cozier environment, sunk in the cushions not having to worry about leaving the apartment. Akaashi run a hand absentmindedly up and down Bokuto’s firm leg until the spiker turned and pulled him on his lap. Akaashi giggled softly, melting in his touch. Their eyes locked, gunmetal blue and gold, so different and yet designed to match.

“Should we move to the bed?” he asked with a teasing smile. He received an affirmative hum in response and Bokuto moved to stand, scooping him in his robust arms like it was nothing. “Whoa!” Akaashi gasped and grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt to steady himself.

“I won’t let you fall, Keiji” the other assured, and Akaashi could have purred in content. He nuzzled the side of his neck, taking in the smell of soap mingled with Bokuto’s own scent. His hands slowly detached from the shirt and roamed over the broad chest.

Bokuto sat him on the mattress and Akaashi laid on his back. He arched a brow when his boyfriend didn’t join him. The man rummaged through the drawer of the nightstand, finding the bottle of lube and a couple of condoms, and then stood, towering over him, his piercing eyes studying every inch of his anatomy. It was the kind of stare that reminded Akaashi of his days as a volleyball player, when the ace evaluated the blockers on the other side of the net. His skin burned in anticipation.

The spiker finally leant over and came to rest a few centimeters above him. Akaashi encircled his neck with his slender arms, pulling him down for a hungry kiss. Bokuto licked his lower lip in a silent plea. It was exhilarating. Tasting the other’s mouth after all those months. Like the first breath after drowning in the loneliness. They were competent adults, capable of living on their own. He could survive without this, without his presence, and probably even without his regular texts.

But he didn’t want to.

Bokuto had the power to enlighten his tedious days and made his failures taste like opportunities. He wondered if it was the same for Koutarou.

Bokuto’s hands were a little rough on the sensitive skin of his hip but it didn’t bother him. It made everything real, the contact grounded him to that moment. Akaashi abandoned the player’s lips and spread open mouthed kisses to his collar. Bokuto grunted softly when he nibbled the junction between neck and shoulder.

“Spread your legs” came the husky order. The hot breath in his ear sent a chill down his spine and Akaashi did as told.

Rushed hands fiddled with his button and he arched his back at the tug on his trousers so they slided more easily, pure muscle memory. Then his pants followed. He lifted his gaze only to find Bokuto looking down at him again, licking his lips, like a predator contemplating his prey. Akaashi got rid of his jersey too, overcoming the surge of self-consciousness that welled at the back of his mind, and then reached up to help Bokuto shed his clothes. Once finished he fell back again and shuddered when he felt Bokuto hovering over him, far enough that their skins didn’t touch, yet so close he could feel his body heat. Then big calloused hands grabbed him, spreading his thighs further, and a lubed finger found its way to his entrance.

“Relax” the voice was still hoarse, but it left a tender aftertaste, “it’s going to hurt if you’re this stiff.”

Akaashi took a deep breath, releasing part of the tension. Bokuto continued his ministrations, licking his chest until both his nipples were cherry red. He gave one of them a playful bite, to which Akaashi complained by pulling the two toned hair a little, not enough to hurt. Bokuto smirked and mouthed an “I love you” before kissing him and going back to his task of leaving a wet trail on his skin.

The dark haired man felt the heat pooling in his lower abdomen. Bokuto used his free hand to press the base of his member. Akaashi tried to rub his legs together on reflex, but the spiker soothed him and managed to slide one of the condoms on him. Akaashi threw his head back, his fingers grasping the sheets, when Bokuto took him into his mouth, slow and hot, turning him into a panting mess.

“P-please,” he begged. “It’s- I’m too close.”

“Think you’re loose enough?” he asked, voice heavy with desire. And yet he would wait for as long as it took to avoid hurting his lover.

God, Akaashi loved him so much.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Bokuto put on the second preservative and applied a bit of lube to himself before entering him, slowly at first, then going all the way without much ceremony. It did sting at first, despite the preparation, but after a while the pain subdued into a dull nuisance before disappearing engulfed by a wave of pleasure. Akaashi moaned, loud. He hadn’t heard his voice like that for… far too long. He had almost forgotten how good it felt being with Bokuto like that. And there he was, rolling up his hips to encompass the thrusts, groaning incoherently.

“K-Kout- AH!”

He wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, who kept moving in a maddening rhythm that sent his nerves into overdrive. Bokuto held his hips firmly against himself, almost lifting him in the air. Akaashi could picture the bruises already forming, tinting his skin, but he couldn’t care less. Koutarou thrust once, twice, hard, and came with a soft grunt. Akaashi felt the grip loosening and let himself fall flat on the mattress, his consciousness starting to slip away. He blinked lazily as Bokuto laid beside him pressed sloppy kisses on his skin.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

The spiker let out a happy murmur and pulled him closer. They fell asleep, warm and safe, reveling in each other’s presence.

-.-.-.-

Akaashi woke up to a sweet smell. He was alone in bed, cocooned in the sheets and duvet. He rubbed his eyes and stretched before leaving his nest in search of a set of clean clothes. He ignored his glasses, neatly folded on the nightstand —pretty sure that wasn’t his doing—, since he only needed them to read. Once dressed he followed the sugary aroma into the kitchen. Bokuto was there, wearing his pajama pants and the apron with the kitten print —a gift from Kuroo, of course. The player was flipping pancakes in a pan with a dexterity Akaashi hadn’t seen before, save for video-tutorials.

“When did you master the art of pancakes?” he asked hugging the man from behind and peering over his broad shoulder.

“I asked Tsum-Tsum’s brother one day he came to watch a game.”

“Ah, the _onigiri_ guy?”

“Yup,” Bokuto nodded while slipping the last batch on a plate. “I… I wanted to be able to do something nice for you, because you always do so much for me,” he said with a fond smile.

Akaashi’s chest swelled and tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

“I- give me a sec,” he asked before bolting out of the kitchen.

His cellphone was abandoned between the cushions of an armchair. He pressed a button and sighed in relief when the screen lighted up. He found the contact he needed and typed a short message.

 _To Miya Atsumu:_ _“Make sure to give Bokuto all the tosses he wants when he goes back.”_

He deserved that and much more.

“Keiji!” Bokuto’s head popped out of the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready!” he announced with a jaunty smile.

“Coming!”

He was going to put his phone in his pocket when it buzzed.

 _From Miya Atsumu:_ _“Just go marry him and leave me alone!”_

Akaashi smiled to himself.

He should certainly think about it.


End file.
